I Don't Want to Say I Told You So
by K. Leigh Anne
Summary: 'My brother used to say when we were kids that if you ever threw a bottle out to sea, then whoever picked it up and read it was your soul mate. Sounds kinda silly, right? And yet here I am trying it.' USUK, inspired by a headcanon.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hey guys! So I was browsing Tumblr and this person has some swell USUK AU and headcanon ideas. One caught my eye and I was like INSPIRATION. 'Imagine an AU where Alfred throws a message in a bottle out to sea and on the paper inside it he writes something like  
"My brother use to say when we were kids that if you ever threw a bottle out to sea then whoever picked it up and read it is your soul mate, kinda silly, right? And yet here I am trying it." And he put his number inside so whoever picked it up could call him. Arthur finds it and after a small mental debate he calls the number. They talk and Alfred probably says something like "wow so you're my soul mate?" And Arthur would get flustered and say how that's impossible he just wanted to call to say he got it or something, but he kinda really thinks it's cute. Long story short, they get married and Alfred rub it in Arthur face as fate.'_

_So without further ado, I present to you my contribution to the buttload of heacanons for two dorks! :D Much love u guise 3_

* * *

Alfred loved the beach. He loved the cool breezes, the thick winds and the powerful gales; the powdery sand, the coarse shingles and the slushy mud; the clear sapphire sky, the promise of gloomy rain and the distinct chill of winter. The American had lost count of how many times he'd been to beaches all throughout the States. His favourite by far was the Clearwater Beach in Florida. He absolutely treasured the pale fluffy sand merging with the prettily glimmering cerulean ocean. The air there was always thick and every time he went there was sun. Not a lot of people were there when he turned up, despite it featuring in the list of many famous and popular beaches in America. The seaside was so beautifully vast and serene that Alfred was thankful to have such a large space to himself, to run about like a madman and kick the sand and sea. He was an adult, but who said he couldn't join in the volleyball games and build sandcastles?

Yes, Alfred rather adored the entire concept of a beach, even the foggy bad-weather-cursed ones. Even then they were still gorgeous. He truly was a sucker for scenery, he couldn't deny.

He sat on the sand of Clearwater Beach, drawing patterns on the terrain with a long spindly stick. His sun kissed skin dripped with sweat and warming water, littered with grains after he had decided to lazily roll around before sitting up. The sunglasses he sported continued to slip down his nose, so he took them off, chucking them behind him. When he didn't hear a tell-tale sound announcing the impact of the accessory on the ground, he looked over his shoulder to see his brother, still clad in that puffy thick hoodie, glasses askew and that old polar bear plush hanging around the arm that wasn't holding Alfred's sunglasses.

"Mattie, d'you ever take that thing off? Surely you gotta be hot, it's almost thirty out today."

"I'm fine. I bought you a Cola."

As he said, Matthew passed Alfred a glass bottle of Cola, cold and dripping, which Alfred was thankful for. Before bringing the lid anywhere near his mouth, he pressed his cheek to the side, the chill of the glass instantly cooling him and sending a giddy frisson down his spine. Matthew situated himself beside him, first laying down a small Canada flag-decorated towel. He gazed at the ocean, drinking from his own bottle of fruity water.

Alfred took his time in finishing his bottle. By the time it was empty, Matthew had lain down on his back and fallen asleep, a reminder for Alfred to wake him up, lest he let his brother catch a nasty sunburn. The American held up his empty bottle, peering through the glass at the distorted image of the ocean and parasols. He remembered when he and his brother had went to a beach in New York. Matthew had claimed that if you sent a message in a bottle into the ocean, whoever came across it was your soul mate. Alfred was incredulous, calling Matthew out on being a 'fibber'. Admittedly, he was still incredulous, although looking back on the memory sparked some curiosity.

He looked from the bottle, to Matthew, then to the ocean, and back to the bottle. A tiny smile tugged at his lips as he snuck a hand into Matthew's pocket, fishing out a scrap piece of notepad paper and finding a pencil in his own pocket. He leaned on his leg and began scribbling a message onto the paper.

_'My brother_ _used to when we were kids that if you ever threw a bottle out to sea, then whoever picked it up and read it would be your soul mate. Kinda silly, right? And yet here I am trying it.'_

On the bottom corner of the paper he wrote down his number, tingling with excitement. He didn't really believe in the whole soul mate kind of thing, but he supposed he did believe in fate. Was that the same thing? Of course not, he decided, rolling up the paper and shoving it into the bottle. He located the cap and twisted it tightly back on, rather than send it to a person, only for that person to take out a sopping piece of smudged paper.

Alfred shook his brother awake with a hand on his shoulder, telling him he could start walking back and that he would catch up. When Mathew began to leave, Alfred leisurely walked all the way up to the shore and waded out until the water was nipping at his knees. He brought his arm back, straightened the bottle, narrowed his eyes and then, with a breathy grunt, threw the bottle with as much power as he could muster, out into the waves. It splashed into the ocean a good few yards from him. When he saw it resurface and gradually begin bobbing away with the rhythm of the water, he smiled to himself and turned back towards the shore.

Perhaps a tiny part of him did believe in soul mates. Alfred went home that day with a huge smile and a spring in his step.


	2. Chapter 2

_Three weeks later_

_Across the Atlantic_

* * *

Arthur hated the beach. He hated the weak breezes, the humid winds and the bitter gales; the irritating sand, the piercing shingles and the wet mud; the clear skies that allowed the sun to fully burn, the promise of gloomy rain which made the sand even worse and the distinct chill of winter which made him wonder who would even go to a beach in winter. The Briton could keep a good count of how many times he'd been to a beach, and that so far was five times, not one of which he enjoyed in the slightest. His least favourite was Brighton beach, because it just had so many people. He preferred his own space, not being thrown about in the midst of strangers stripped down to bikinis and trunks. He didn't like the stones near the end of the beach either. Who in their right mind would enjoy walking on rocks and sharp shells?

The frown settled on his face threatened to turn into a full-on grimace. Not only was he situated a beach, which was bad enough, but he was also beginning to feel the effects of the Blackpool sun. Arthur thought it nice that the English weather could give up the rain for a day, but he wasn't at all pleased that it had to be today. His usually pale alabaster skin was sporting an obscene tell-tale burnt colour.

It was all that damn Frog's fault.

Arthur looked beside him to the Frog in question, glaring at his cool demeanour and skin that hadn't even caught a tan yet. He had been dragged out here by Francis, after he insisted on going somewhere other than deeper into London for a holiday and instead choosing Blackpool of all places. He looked content enough, Arthur decided, leaning against the steps with a relaxed expression, still typically dressed up fashionably but nevertheless looking a lot less cooked than Arthur himself was. Arthur would much rather have been in his apartment, curled up on the sofa with a good, long book and cup of tea, listening to the rain patter on the window. Yes, that seemed like the perfect concept of a good day.

"If I happen to catch cancer after this, I hope you know that I'm making you pay for my medication and needs." Arthur muttered.

Francis' lazy stupor broke as an amused smile spread across his annoyingly _French_ face. "Arthur, you never cease to find an error in all things. Can't you just lay back and enjoy?"

"I find that difficult to do, seeing as I'm catching a rather unfair tan."

"Stop complaining, mon cheri."

"No."

Arthur rose to his feet, uncomfortably shifting about in his clothes, sweat and sand clinging in a way that made him want to jump in an ice cold bath. He reached down and swiped Francis' sunglasses from his face, placing them on his own and walking back up the steps the way they came down. Francis, muttering a complaint in French, got up and quickly scurried after him.

For a few minutes they stood bickering at the top of the steps about going back to their hotel or not, to which Arthur soon ignored and opted on walking down the shorter pier, past the little funfair and leaning over the wooden rails. Francis had paced back down to the beach, now wading out in the water to his knees. Arthur watched him with a fixed scowl, wondering if he could throw the sunglasses and hit him square in the face, before the man in question of being hit in the face abruptly turned towards Arthur, waving something about in his hands. He called out to him inaudibly, so Arthur shook his head and motioned him to come back.

When he came back, legs dripping wet, he'd gave Arthur an empty bottle.

Arthur inwardly groaned as he peeled off a tiny strand of seaweed from the Cola bottle, shaking droplets of water from it and unscrewing the lid, muttering when the stickiness of the drying salt water settled on his hands. He retrieved a rolled up piece of paper from inside, which he opened and gave a once over.

'_My brother used to say when we were kids that if you ever threw a bottle out to sea, then whoever picked it up and read it would be your soul mate. Kinda silly, right? And yet here I am trying it.'_

The Englishman glanced at the bottom of the paper at a number. He was stunned to silence for a few moments until Francis waved a hand in front of his face.

"Arthur, êtes-vous d'accord?" he asked, eyeing the paper.

Arthur's eyes snapped up to his. "Of course, Frog."

Francis smirked. "You never told me to speak English."

"Speak English."

"Too late!"

"At least I can understand your goddamned language because I've been forced to listen to it for so long!"

"That means you're admitting you know French."

"No-"

"Come on, we should go back now. Dépêchez-vous!"

"Don't tell me to hurry up!"

"You did it again!"

"Shut up!"All the way back to their hotel, Arthur and Francis never halted their arguing and insulting and teasing. Despite himself, Arthur found that he couldn't pull his mind away from the message in the bottle. He had kept it, shoving it into his pocket when Francis was not looking. He did not know if would call the number or not. He would decide when he returned to his room, away from the Frog.

Even so, what would he say? He had never believed in some rubbish about soul mates, though he was borderline superstitious in some situations.

However, a tiny part of him wanted very much to pick up a phone and call to see who was his destined soul mate. But that was childish.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur had decided to never visit the beach for as long as he lived when he returned to his and Francis' hotel room, positively burnt to a crisp. Perhaps he was exaggerating, though he was sure his skin was more than a shade or two darker than what was normal. He had spared Francis his loathing and Francis had spared him his hourly bragging.

Arthur left the room keys hanging on the door handle before he made his way, pulling pained faces as he went, into the en-suite bathroom. He heard Francis sauntering about in the room beside him, most likely changing his outfit for the third time that day. Arthur bit his lip as he gingerly rubbed and patted lotion about his arms, face and upper chest, swearing to roll around in the largest puddle he could find when he returned back to London.

When he finished, he exited the bathroom and promptly collapsed onto his bed, digging a thick book out from his suitcase and making himself comfortable. Francis announced his presence, not a foot from the end of the bed, with a small cough into his fist.

Arthur glanced up over the top of his book.

His annoying French _friend _was posing, or at least that was what Arthur called it, with his hands on his hips, whipping his hair back over his shoulder. Sometimes Arthur swore he was a woman, let alone letting it pass as Francis getting in touch with his feminine side.

He made a hum of dismal acknowledgement.

"Oh, come on Arthur, please get into the spirit of things, we are on holiday!" he cajoled.

"Yes, I'm all for joining you for a day and night out on the rowdy streets of Blackpool when I can barely move with cooked skin." Arthur said dully, turning a page.

Francis leaned over the bed, hands planted firmly on the scratchy duvet, and looked at Arthur with lidded blue eyes. Arthur stared him down over his novel again, scowling under his breath when the Frenchman inched ever closer.

"Kindly refrain from invading my personal space, Frog. If anything you attempt to do is meant to persuade me to leave this room with you, trying to put your face anywhere near mine won't be the way to do it."

"Mon compagnon, you doubt me?"

"That's an understatement."

"It is not at all like you to pass up the alcohol, chéri." Francis huffed, backing away from the bed.

"On the contrary, after being boiled I'd much rather vegetate here, thank you very much. If that's all, you can be on your way."

Francis gave a defeated exhale, though he nevertheless smirked and paced over to the door, waving Arthur goodbye before he left. Arthur glanced at the keys hanging on the handle before he put his book down and sighed. He wouldn't be back for a good few hours, most likely intoxicated when he stepped into the room to top it off.

Arthur slipped a bookmark between the pages of his hardback and sat up, face creasing as the sting of his sunburn ghosted over his skin. He patted down the pockets of his jeans, pulling out his phone and at the same time, the piece of paper that was in the bottle.

His emerald eyes followed the flittering of the paper until it rested daintily on the carpet. He reached down and picked it up, turning it about in his fingers to inspect the number scrawled at the corner of the paper.

_Maybe I should call. Just to tell this person that I got the message._

Arthur picked up his mobile and stared at the screen for a moment, looking between that and the paper.

_Then again, the number could take me through to some adult hotline. Or even a murderer, for God's sake! _

He pursed his lips, eyebrows drawn down in thought.

_Oh, you're overreacting. Just call the bloody number and if anything dodgy comes about, just hang up! If all goes not so well, I could just change my number and never worry about it again. _

His fingers hovered over the keys of his phone.

_Okay, just call and say you got the message, then hang up. Or... why would I do that? I'd be annoyed if a stranger called me just to inform me they got my message. As if I'd ever send a message in a bottle anyway._

The blinking insertion point of the screen continued to appear and disappear, tempting Arthur to just tap in the number and get it over with.

_Stop jumping the gun - I'll just do it and say 'hi', throw in some pleasantries and what not... oh hell, who am I kidding? I'll call and see where it goes..._

Followed by a second more of hesitation, Arthur punched in the numbers and held the phone to his ear, anxiety peaking at the ringing droned on. Finally, someone picked up the phone.

_"Y'ello?"_

The person to pick up was undoubtedly male and _very _undoubtedly American. Arthur stiffened, mind drawing to a blank and completely devoid of anything to say in response. His mouth opened and closed several times, lacking his voice.

_"Dude, you there? I got no one on my caller ID so I don't know who you are, but you can't be a prank caller, 'cause you're really quiet back there."_

Arthur finally regained control over his voice and briefly swallowed. "Yes, hello-"

_"Wow, you're British? That's so cool!"_

_He doesn't seem wary of how I managed to get a hold of his number._

_"So, who are you, British dude?"_

Arthur snorted. "Just the type of manners I expect from an American."

_"Aw, that's cruel. But you still never told me who you are. And how you got my number."_

"Ah, my name is Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. My intention of calling was to tell you that I received the message in the bottle that you apparently cast out; don't begin your sentences with 'and' either."

_"Jeez, sorry Shakespeare- oh, hey! You got my message? No way, I don't believe you."_

"How else would I have gotten your number, you idiot?"

_"You coulda looked in one of them books with all the numbers in it."_

"You threw the bottle into the Atlantic, did you not?"

_"Well, yeah. From Florida, actually."_

"Enlighten me, which two countries would the Atlantic separate?"

_"England and America, duh."_

"That alone should be enough proof that I came across the bottle. It's hardly likely that the bottle would have veered off and went straight to Canada. Do I sound Canadian to you?"

_"You could be really good at accents, like that Mike Myers guy. You seen Austin Powers? It's hella rad."_

"Were you dropped on your head as a child?"

_"Wow, you're really mean. You hurt me, Arthur. My heart is bleeding."_

"You don't say? My sincerest apologies... ah, I didn't catch your name."

_"Alfred Jones at your service."_

"My sincerest apologies, Alfred."

_"Drop that formal thing, Artie. You can call me Al, y'know."_

"Allowing you to call me 'Artie' in the process? Thank you, but no."

_"You're stuffy."_

"You're insufferable."

_"That ain't fair, you've known me for like two minutes."_

"Your English is atrocious."

_"Thanks. So you got my message, huh? That's pretty cool. You read the actual message, right?"_

"Of course."

_"Wow, so you're my soul mate?"_

Arthur was caught off guard by that comment and stuttered for a moment, before Alfred laughed on the other end of the line. His laughter was oddly soothing. Loud, yet reassuring. Arthur mentally chastised himself for taking notice of a miniature feature, and scowled.

"You don't actually believe in all that soul mate nonsense, do you? You're insufferable _and _childish."

_"Well, maybe I do. Little believin' never hurt no one. Pretty awesome though, am I right? We're like destined to be together. That means we gotta meet up and get to know each other."_

Arthur spluttered for a response. "D-don't be ridiculous! Destined to be together? Are you off your rocker? We barely know each other-"

_"Which is why I said we gotta get to know each other, silly. You gotta come to the States!"_

"I'd rather throw myself into traffic, thank you. How about you come to England-" Arthur forcibly stopped himself. "Or not, because... because I don't know you at all, you could be a psycho or some other dangerous being. I'd rather not end up killing myself."

_"What happened to throwing yourself into traffic?"_

"You're missing my point."

_"Why's your voice all shaky? You get nervous pretty easy, huh? Chillax, Artie. What if we take it slow?"_

"Please abstain from talking as if you were trying to coax me into a date," Arthur's cheeks unintentionally lit up in pink. "All I called you for was to tell you I got your message."

_"Yeah. And my message states that you're my soul mate. You don't wanna test fate, Artie. Karma could hit you in the face like that. You don't wanna ruin your face do ya? You probably got a pretty face, so don't let it get whooped by Karma."_

"Are you flirting with me?" Arthur demanded.

_"Damn, I've been ratted out. It's called subtle flirting. I'm good at it, aren't I?"_

"I think the purpose of subtle flirting is to not let the other catch on like I just did. Don't ever comment on my face again until you've seen it."

_"Ah, that's more like it! I like the subliminals in there, like you're saying I definitely will see you. Does that mean I can come to England?"_

"No, it does not. Of course, you can visit of your own free will. Should I see you appearing around London, however, I'll kindly or not-so-kindly boot you in the face and tell you there is no such thing as soul mates."

_"You just told me you live in London. I'll book a flight as soon as. You know I've been saving up for a holiday? Probably somewhere like Germany or France. The French have got some great food, really fancy."_

Arthur pulled a face.

_"But I bet going to England would be a lot cheaper."_

"Are you implying something?"

_"Don't be silly. If I turn up at your door, will you invite me in for tea and crumpets?"_

"No, I'll chuck you into an alley way. You're not coming to England."

_"What if it's raining- ah, heck, it's always raining there. Okay, so when it's raining and freezing and I'm shivering at your door, you're gonna just kick me out?"_

"Yes."

_"I bet you wouldn't. You sound too formal and fancy; formal and fancy people are usually really classy, and classy equals gentleman. You're too gentlemanly to throw me out, Artie. And I'll use my best puppy eyes and you won't be able to resist my charms, so you'll let me in and offer me some of your awful British food."_

"Excuse me? British food is the best! Much better than the garbage you Americans shove down your gullets on a daily basis!"

_"You did not just dis Mickey D's and Chick-Fil-A! You don't even know what you're missing, with your bland tea and... and fish and chips."_

"Finest cuisine in the world, if you ask me. I'll take that over your greasy rubbish any day. Bear in mind you won't get to have any, because you are not coming to England."

_"Aw, c'mon Artie! Don't be a meanie. No one likes a meanie. Tell you what, we should give really small descriptions of each other. Then when I come to London we can try and spot each other!"_

"In your dreams, lad."

_"I'll beg you."_

"I'll hang up on you."

_"Well... I'll just call back until you answer. Come on, don't be a stick in the mud. I'm definitely travelling to London, 'cause I've officially decided right now, so you may as well. I'll even go first if you want? I'll take your silence as a yes; I'm really tall and tanned. Y'know like that awesome tan you get from weather down South? That kind. I'm your basic American sweetheart, blond and blue-eyed. Got some glasses, and even this weird bit of hair that - stay with me - defies gravity. How awesome is that?!"_

"My heart is beating a mile a minute."

_"You flatter me, Artie. Your turn."_

Arthur paused to look down at himself, clad in a thin shirt and dark jeans. There wasn't much about himself that he thought was distinguishing. He was as plain as plain would show itself. The epitome of ordinary, if you will. He exhaled mutedly.

"There isn't much. I'm most likely shorter than you, blond hair, green eyes. I'll request that you don't mock my eyebrows either, for they are quite thick. I... well, that's all."

_"There's so much more, I bet. Besides, the shorter than me part sounds cute."_

Arthur bit his lip as Alfred let out a laugh, lower and calmer than his previous, dark red painting his face.

"Cease the pick up lines and flirting." he snapped, although he didn't look as confident as he sounded.

_"Yes sir. Say, you got Skype?"_

"Even if I did have it, I wouldn't use it."

_"You're still mean, y'know."_

Arthur continued to talk to Alfred for a good hour or so, before the American had to go and left Arthur in silence, playing with the small ornament hanging from his phone. He stared at the wall opposite his bed, wondering exactly what he'd got himself into. If Alfred kept to his word, he would inevitably end up seeing him around London soon enough.

His...

_Soul mate?_

No, he still did not believe in that nonsense. Although he did believe he was mad, having talked to a random excitable American that he now appeared to soon be meeting up with. Or, rather, bumping into.

Arthur settled back onto his bed, immersing himself in his book, anything to quash the thoughts of what he would do when and if he did actually walk into Alfred.

He'd rather not contemplate it. He'd much rather have stayed in his London flat, away from the beach and away from that message in the bottle.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Last short chapter with some adorable dorky fluffy goodness~ Much love 3_

* * *

London was his home. He felt so much better immersing himself within the familiar surroundings rather than back in Blackpool. He even welcomed the bitter chill that the rain brought today, anything to make him forget that awful sunburn he was only just seeing the last of.

Arthur had no ulterior motive when he left his flat. He ambled about the streets, briefly wandering into shops and pausing by the Thames for a moment or two to watch the boats pass by, when he decided he would visit his favourite bookstore. After making his way through tight crowds and looking as if he had jumped into the Thames when he was there, Arthur shrugged off his sopping coat and headed inside. The warm air hitting his face was a luxury.

He waved to the owner, who he had come to know very well, before being allowed to hang his coat up to dry as he searched the aisles.

The shop today was rather full, and Arthur felt no surprise as this was not only his favourite place, but also quite popular to locals and strangers alike. He manoeuvred his way around people until he reached the back of the shop where the fantasy books were ordered by author's last name. Yet, before he could lose himself in wondrous fiction as he would have liked, a loud voice resonated through the entire building, disrupting Arthur's content mood.

"Jeez, it's freakin' torrential out there!"

Arthur froze. That voice was far too loud and boisterous and _foreign_ to be a mere overexcited Londoner. That voice was far too familiar.

The blond craned his neck to peer around one of the shelves and saw a tall, darker blonde, looking bulky in a ridiculously large leather jacket with glasses askew and dripping. He stepped out of the aisle and gingerly made his way up to the man, clearing his throat audibly.

"Pardon me, sir..." he started, but drifted off when the other looked at him with the most captivating blue eyes he had ever seen.

"Do I know you, man? Never seen you 'round be-" he paused and a huge smile broke out onto his face. "No freakin' way, dude! There is no way- you ain't that Arthur guy, are you?"

Arthur sheepishly smiled when some people turned to look at the commotion, some with amused faces and others with a look of irritancy. He glanced towards the American who was undoubtedly _Alfred._

He was not nearly as anxious as he thought he would be, come this situation.

"Yes, I am." he confirmed, forcing his voice not to waver.

A surprised and undignified noise came from Arthur when Alfred threw his arms around him in a too-tight embrace, and he spurted out nonsense until he was let go and able to breathe. Without getting the chance to speak, Alfred motioned for him to follow outside, to which Arthur frowned at but nevertheless retrieved his damp coat and returned to the wet weather. Once outside, he found Alfred bouncing on the spot.

"Wow, am I lucky! Never thought I'd catch you so soon, huh? Ha, this is awesome!"

Arthur made a noise resembling to that of a drowned cat. He probably looked like one too. "Could we possibly take this elsewhere?"

"Whoa, you sound even more British in person."

"English." Arthur corrected without missing a beat.

"Eh, same diff. Hey, you wanna go get a coffee or, y'know, tea?"

Arthur found himself unconsciously nodding and walking alongside Alfred throughout the streets of London towards the distinct and cosy aroma of a coffee shop.

* * *

Arthur awoke to a pair of warm lips against his cheeks along with the feather-light tickle of dark blond hair. He opened his eyes and saw Alfred hovering over him with a broad smile.

"Mornin' sweetheart." he said gently.

Arthur let the pet name slip and lazily sat up, making a noise of approval when he was offered a hot mug. Even this early in the morning, he managed to wordlessly thank Alfred with a small smile, though he couldn't help but add:

"The way I like it?"

"The way you like it." his partner nodded. "And I did you some toast too."

"Cheers, love," Arthur said when a plate was passed to him. "What's the occasion?"

Alfred feigned an offended pout. "What, I can't make my husband breakfast in bed without an excuse?"

"Knowing you, most likely not."

"Aw, boo."

Arthur reached over and ruffled up Alfred's hair, smirking when he inched away with a cautious and amused grin. Then he all but leapt off the bed and vanished from the room for a meagre few seconds, before returning with a small box. After making himself comfortable again beside Arthur, he opened the box and waved about a piece of dishevelled paper.

"Hey Artie, remember how we met?"

Arthur frowned for a moment. "I believe I do. Why?"

"You remember how I said we were destined to be soul mates? I mean, I don't want to say I told you so, but-"

Arthur cocked an eyebrow, his expression daring Alfred to continue.

"... I told you so!"

Alfred laughed as Arthur opted for using their pillows as a weapon against him.


End file.
